


Those Eyes

by LeastExpected_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-06-11
Updated: 2002-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:01:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26443123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeastExpected_Archivist/pseuds/LeastExpected_Archivist
Summary: by UluithielA languid Ithilien afternoon after stewed rabbit
Relationships: Frodo Baggins/Sam Gamgee
Kudos: 5
Collections: Least Expected





	Those Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Amy Fortuna, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Least Expected](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Least_Expected), which has been offline since 2002. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Least Expected collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/leastexpected/profile).
> 
> Story Notes: This is my first explicit slash piece. I've fallen into deep water here, and am grateful to Hope for putting down an arm and pulling me into the boat.

March 6, 1419 (in the Shire reckoning)  
The woods north of Ithilien

"Soon the rabbits cut up lay simmering in their pans with the bunched herbs. Almost Sam fell asleep as the time went by. He let them stew for close on an hour, testing them now and again with his fork, and tasting the broth." The Two Towers, p263

"Mr Frodo?" Sam had just gone to wake him when Frodo's eyes opened, those eyes sweet and untroubled, more untroubled than they had been for ever so long. "I've got a bit of stew for you, and some broth, Mr. Frodo".

Frodo stretched and yawned luxuriously. "Stew? How good it smells! We haven't had a hot meal since - well, too long", he broke off lamely. The last hot meal had been while they were still with the Fellowship, the camp before that terrible day at Amon Hen. But today, with the sun shining, and the fragrance of Ithilien mingling with the mouth-watering smell of stewed rabbit, and Sam smiling down on him, almost Frodo could feel happy.

They ate together, sharing the fork, supping the broth from their mugs. Frodo was moved even to play a little, feeding Sam bites of the tender meat, letting Sam feed him, smiling at each other through the good grease that collected around their mouths. At last Frodo lay back, sated, and groaned rapturously. "Oh, Sam, how wonderful it feels to have my belly full of good warm stew! Bless you, Sam." He rolled onto his side, propping himself on an elbow to watch Sam begin tidying up the meager clutter.

"What are you going to serve me for Afters, Sam?"

"Now, Mr Frodo, you know there's no berries ripe, and how you could expect me to bake anyth. . ." Sam's words strangled as he turned and caught sight of Frodo's face. The lips were curved tenderly, and those eyes were blurring with a smokiness Sam knew well and hadn't seen for so long, so long.

How long? There had been the long lovely nights in Rivendell, and weeks of cozy chilly nights crossing Eregion. Then came Moria, and the Bridge of Khazad Dum, and for many days Frodo was plunged too deeply in his grief for even Sam to reach him. Gradually, though, Lothlorien worked its healing magic, and when they took to the Great River they were again one, joined, together. But as they journeyed down Anduin Frodo became more and more abstracted. He wasn't cold, just - absent. His eyes, those amazing eyes, were veiled; some shroud had come between he and Sam. And then that terrible day at Amon Hen.

Sam still went cold inside when he remembered how nearly he had lost Frodo.

And now here he was, Frodo, his Frodo. Sam's voice was husky as much with relief as with desire. "Well, then, if that's the sort of Afters you have in mind, I think I could just manage that, Mr. Frodo."

Frodo put out a long arm, caught Sam's ankle, and tumbled him to the soft ground. In a flash Frodo was atop him, looming over him, laughing down into his face. "And what have I told you about calling me 'Mister' at a time like this, Samwise Gamgee?"

Sam tried to laugh back, but Frodo was kissing him, and even the joyous laughter that bubbled from his soul melted in the heat that blazed between them. He thrust his fingers into dark curls, cupping Frodo's head in both hands, turning it to just the right angle so Sam's tongue could explore deeply, their lips sliding with grease from their stew.

When suddenly it was gone. Pain: searing cold, a piercing flame, stabbed Sam's breast, and as his eyes flew open in outraged astonishment he saw the same pain in Frodo's eyes, but deeper, darker, and those eyes were veiled again, clouded by an inner haze. With a strangled cry Frodo flung himself off Sam and skittered away, nails scrabbling in the leaves.

"Frodo? Frodo, me dear, me darling, what is it? What's wrong?"

"It's the Ring, Sam," said Frodo in a voice so different from a moment ago that almost Sam could believe it was another hobbit. "It's the Ring. This cursed Ring - it wants suffering, Sam, and it wants Death, and it won't let me love you, no, that might keep me alive! It wants me, and . . ." Frodo turned to face Sam squarely, eyes darkened to sapphire with pain and loathing. "It won't let me love." The eyes brimmed, overflowed. "It won't let me love!" and now it was a wail.

Sam crawled to where Frodo lay. The Ringbearer was on his side, back turned to Sam, knees hugged to his chest, fists clenched. Very gently, tenderly, Sam began to stroke his master, letting his warmth and love seep in slowly, and he watched the tense body gradually relax until finally, exhausted, Frodo sprawled on his back, eyes closed, face smudged with tears.

As he ministered to Frodo, Sam felt building in his heart a rage greater than any he had ever known. This Ring, this filthy, malicious thing, was stealing from his Frodo the last shreds of comfort Sam was able to give him. 'It shan't have him', he vowed silently. 'I will not let him go.'

Quickly, before Frodo could protest, Sam unbuttoned Frodo's shirt to reveal, shining on the creamy skin, the Doom of Middle Earth. Rapidly Sam slid his breeches off, and he cast a leg over Frodo's hips, straddling him, sitting above him, clasping the slender wrists gently but inexorably. Frodo's eyes turned up to him, startled, but clear again; Frodo shining out of them, not the Ring. 'Help me, Lady', Sam prayed silently and, in a voice that contained all his love and all his rage, he said, "Frodo."

Just that. "Frodo." And then his left hand reached, slowly, slowly, toward the hideous thing on Frodo's breast. Frodo's eyes widened, but he did not protest. Sam kept his eyes locked on Frodo's as, mustering all his courage, he grasped the Ring in his strong brown hand.

Frodo's eyes rolled back in his head, and Sam's hand burned with the Ring's outrage. Again he said commandingly, "Frodo!" and those eyes opened, bluer than the sky, and they were still Frodo's, it was still his Frodo looking back at him.

Setting his teeth against the scorching pain of the Ring in his left hand, Sam undid Frodo's breeches with his right. He held Frodo fast as he slid himself down, taking Frodo deeply into himself. The pain and pleasure at the joining, the pain that was the Ring, the pleasure that was Frodo's eyes, Frodo's eyes with him, and blurring again, but not with the Ring's shrouding mist, no, Frodo's eyes blurring with pleasure, those eyes incandescent with joy, luminous with the love and comfort that Sam, that Sam was giving him.

Then Frodo gave an imploring moan and clutched Sam's hips in a bruising grasp. Never taking his eyes from Sam's, he pressed up, letting Sam take him, hold him, contain him, soothe him, love him. And Sam, his eyes never leaving Frodo's, plunged his right hand into those silky dark curls and hung on as to a lifeline. The Ring in his left hand was burning, blazing, and Sam's tears overflowed and fell onto Frodo's face. His eyes never left Frodo's, those eyes welling too, Frodo's tears running down into the curls at his temples, drenching Sam's hand with the tears of them both, and then those eyes opened wide, wide enough to fill the world, wide enough to be Sam's world, as with a gutteral cry Frodo surged up into Sam's body, his back arching like a bow, then went limp, trembling. And his climax sent Sam over the edge, and the release flowed between them like the waters of the Anduin, roaring like the falls of Rauros, but their eyes never left each other's.

the end


End file.
